Early English Poets.
SIR JOHN DAVIES.

PRINTED BY ROBERT ROBERTS,
BOSTON.

Early English Poets.

THE
COMPLETE POEMS
OF
SIR JOHN DAVIES.

EDITED,

WITH

Memorial-Introduction and Notes,

BY THE

REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. II.

London:
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
1876.

[Contents.]

Those marked with [*] are either printed for the first time, or for the first time published among Davies' Poems.

[ERRATA.]

A very few 'slips' have met my eyes on a final reading. They are—as says an ancient Divine—"as easily corrected as espied." Nevertheless they are here recorded that the Reader of his charity may put them right, and any others that may have escaped Editor and Printer. In Nosce Teipsum, the heading and head-line (Vol. I., pp. 25, 26 onward) has 'Immortalitie' misprinted 'Immortalite'—a common contemporary spelling—but it is 'tie' in the title-page (p. 5): ib. p. 80, l. 15, read 'be best.' In Hymnes to Astræa, ib. p. 147, l. 3, remove period (.) after 'rayes.' In Orchestra, ib. p. 181, st. 53, l. 7, read 'perfect-cunning': p. 185, foot-note 7, put G. at end: p. 192, st. 81, l. 7, 'Ply' = entwine (omitted): p. 194, foot-note 7, is 'coach,' not 'couch': p. 202, l. 10, 'shoe' was the contemporary spelling: p. 204, st. 113, l. 6, insert 'it' before 'shine.'—G.

[IV. EPIGRAMS, WITH ADDITIONS.]

[NOTE.]

I am indebted to the Bodleian copy—among Malone's books—for my text of these 'Epigrams.' I have preferred this edition to the two others that preceded, inasmuch as, while it, like them, bears the imprint of 'Middlebourgh,' there seems no reason to doubt that it was printed in London: therefore most probably under the author's eye. The volume is a small 12mo. and the following is the title-page:—

All
OVIDS ELEGIES
3 Bookes
By C. M.
EPIGRAMS BY J. D.
At Middlebourgh.

Malone has filled in in MS. 'Christopher Marlowe and John Davis.' Cf. Collier's Bibliographical Account of Early English Literature: Vol I. s.n.

The Rev. Alexander Dyce in his collective edition of the Works of Marlowe, has given Davies' "Epigrams" in extenso, with a painstaking collation of the various readings from the other two editions (both undated) together with similar various readings from a Manuscript discovered by him in the Harleian Collection (1836.) Mr. Dyce with reference to his reprint of the 'Epigrams,' and the foregoing MS. says, "I have given them with the text considerably improved by means of one of the Harleian MSS." ('Some Account of Marlowe and his Writings: p. xl: edition 1862.) I must demur to this alleged 'improvement.' The MS. has no authority whatever, the Scribe being an extremely ignorant and blundering one. These nine examples out of many, taken at random, will suffice to prove this:

[1] Epigram 1, line first.

'Fly, merry Muse unto that merry towne &c.

he actually reads, spite of its heading 'Ad Musam'

'Fly, merry Newes....

[2] Epigram 2, line 14

'And stands, in Presence, stroaking up his haire'

he gives, to neglect of the rhyme with 'yeare'

'...... stroaking up his heade'

[3] Epigram 3, line 5, for 'fry' he stupidly reads 'cry.'

[4] Epigram 13, line 9, for 'sectaries' he gives nonsensically 'scituaries.'

[5] Epigram 15, line 3.

'Thou with harsh noise the ayre doth rudely breake,'

he transmogrifies into

'...... horse nor sea the ayre doth.'

[6] Epigram 26, line 11, he substitutes 'sweete' for 'hot' oblivious of the rhyme with 'petticoat.'

[7] Epigram 36, line 19, for 'rarifie' he reads 'ratiffie'[!]

[8] Epigram 41, line 2,

'Paulus, in spite of enuy, fortunate'

he gives thus

Paulus, in fight of envy'......

[9] Epigram 43, line 3, for 'Paris-garden' he has 'Parish-garden;' and so on ludicrously, with numerous proper names.

Any one capable of perpetrating such stupidities as these, ought not in my opinion, to be allowed to displace a text printed for the Author, more especially his cannot for a moment be allowed to over-bear the third edition, our text.

From a confused inscription on the first page of the MS. its probable writer is ascertained. It is as follows "Ex spoliis Richardi Wharfe, ex...... It is much trouble and much.... Ex spoliis R. W." Underneath is the book-plate of John, Duke of Newcastle. The general title runs "Epigramma in Musam, like Buckminster's Allmanacks servinge generallie for all England: but especiallie for the meridian of this famous Cittie of London." I regret that besides these (mis-called) 'improvements,' so admirable an Editor should have modernized throughout, the ORTHOGRAPHY equally of Marlowe and of Davies: and all the more, that in his 'Notes' he adheres to the original orthography whenever he quotes from his wealth of illustrative extracts. The annotation condemns the text. Without any hesitation therefore, I have set aside Mr. Dyce's reprints, and returned (as supra) to Davies' own text and orthography, saving a slight reduction of capitals and italics. None the less do I owe thanks to Mr. Dyce for his kind permission kindly given, to use any 'Notes' that might be deemed interesting. Those that I have taken are marked with his initial, D. I have to add another important correction of Mr. Dyce. After describing the Harleian MS. he observes "Though it is of a date considerably posterior to the first appearance in print of Epigrams by I. D., perhaps all the pieces which it exhibits are from the pen of Davies. (page 353.) Homer nods here: for on reading these additional 'Epigrams' thus assigned to Davies, I at once discovered that they consisted merely of a like blundering transcript of the "Satyricall Epigrams" of Henry Hutton, Dunelmensis, that were appended to his "Follie's Anatomie or Satyres" (1619.) The oversight is the more noticeable in that all these were reprinted in 1842, (edited by Rimbault), for the Percy Society, whereof Mr. Dyce was one of the most effective members of Council.

I confess that it was far from a disappointment to find that the 'Epigrams' of Davies were not to be increased to the extent they would have been had I accepted Mr. Dyce's opinion, and failed to discover the Hutton-authorship of nearly all those in the Manuscript, additional to his acknowledged ones. Nevertheless in the Appendix to our reprint of the 'Epigrams' I give certain additions from this Manuscript, that are found neither in Davies's nor Hutton's publications, but which seem to me to have the ring of Davies in them. The remainder—prefixed and affixed—may well be left in Manuscript. See the Memorial-Introduction for more on these Epigrams. G.

[Epigrammes.]

Ad Musam. 1.

Fly, merry Muse unto that merry towne,
Where thou maist playes, revels, and triumphs see;
The house of Fame, and theater of renowne,
Where all good wits and spirits loue to be.
Fall in betweene their hands that loue and praise thee,[1]
And be to them a laughter and a jest:
But as for them which scorning shall reproue thee,
Disdaine their wits, and thinke thine one[2] the best:
But if thou finde any so grose[3] and dull,
That thinke I do to priuate taxing[4] leane,
Bid him go hang, for he is but a gull,
And knows not what an Epigramme does meane;
Which taxeth,[5] under a peculiar name,[6]
A generall vice, which merits publick blame.

Of a Gull. 2.

Oft in my laughing rimes, I name a Gull:
But this new terme will many questions breed;
Therefore at first I will expresse[7] at full,
Who is a true and perfect Gull indeed:
A Gull is he who feares a veluet gowne,
And, when a wench is braue,[8] dares not speak to her;
A Gull is he which trauerseth the towne,
And is for marriage known a common woer;
A Gull is he which while he proudly weares,
A siluer-hilted rapier by his side;
Indures the lyes and knocks about the eares,
Whilst in his sheath his sleeping sword doth bide:
A Gull is he which weares good handsome cloaths,
And stands, in Presence, stroaking up his haire,
And fills up his unperfect speech with oaths,
But speaks not one wise word throughout the yeare:
But to define a Gull in termes precise,—
Gull is he which seemes, and is not wise.[9]

In Ruffum. 3.

Rufus the Courtier at the theater,
Leaving the best and most conspicuous place,
Doth either to the stage[10] himselfe transferre,
Or through a grate[11] doth shew his double[12] face:
For that the clamorous fry of Innes of Court,
Fills up the priuate roomes of greater price:
And such a place where all may haue resort,
He in his singularity doth dispise.
Yet doth not his particular humour shun
The common stews and brothells of the towne,
Though all the world in troops doe hither[13] run,
Cleane and uncleane, the gentle and the clowne:
Then why should Rufus in his pride abhorre,
A common seate, that loues a common whore.

In Quintum. 4.

Quintus the dancer useth euermore,
His feet in measure and in rule to moue:
Yet on a time he call'd his Mistresse, 'whore'
And thought[14] with that sweet word to win her loue:
Oh had his tongue like to his feet beene taught
It neuer would haue uttered such a thought.

In Plurimos.[15] 5.

Faustinus, Sextus, Cinnæ, Ponticus,
With Gella, Lesbia, Thais, Rhodope,
Rode all to Stanes[16] for no cause serious,
But for their mirth, and for their leachery:
Scarce were they setled in their lodging, when
Wenches with wenches, men with men fell out:
Men with their wenches, wenches with their men;
Which straight dissolues[17] their ill-assembled rout.[18]
But since the Deuill brought them thus together,
To my discovrsing[19] thoughts it is a wonder,
Why presently as soone as they came thither,
The selfe same deuill did them part asunder.
Doubtlesse it seemes it was a foolish deuill,
That thus did[20] part them e're they did some euill.

In Titam.[21] 6.

Titas, the braue and valorous[22] young gallant,
Three yeares together in this towne hath beene;
Yet my Lord Chancellor's tombe[23] he hath not seene
Nor the new water-worke,[24] nor the Elephant.[25]
I cannot tell the cause without a smile,—
He hath beene in the Counter[26] all this while.

In Faustum. 7.

Faustus, nor lord, nor knight, nor wise, nor old,
To euery place about the towne doth ride;
He rides into the fields, Playes to behold,
He rides to take boat at the water side:
He rides to Pauls',[27] he rides to th' Ordinary
He rides unto the house of bawdery too,—
Thither his horse doth him so often carry,
That shortly he will quite forget to goe.

In Katum.[28] 8.

Kate being pleas'd wisht that her pleasure could
Indure as long as a buffe-jerkin would:
Content thee, Kate; although thy pleasure wasteth,
Thy pleasure's place like a buffe-jerkin lasteth,
For no buffe-jerkin hath beene oftner worne,
Nor hath more scrapings or more dressings borne.

In Librum. 9.

Liber doth vaunt how chastly he hath liu'd,
Since he hath bin seuen yeares in towne, and more,[29]
For that he sweares he hath four onely swiude;[30]
A maid, a wife, a widdow, and a whore:
Then, Liber, thou hast swiude all women-kinde,
For a fifth sort, I know thou canst not finde.

In Medontem. 10.

Great captaine Mædon weares a chaine of gold,
Which at fiue hundred crownes is valuèd;
For that it was his grand sire's chaine of old,
When great King Henry, Bulloigne conquerèd.
And weare it Mædon, for it may ensue,
That thou, by vertue of this[31] massie chaine,
A stronger towne than Bulloigne maist subdue,
If wise men's sawes be not reputed vaine;
For what said Philip king of Macedon?
There is no castle so well fortified,
But if an asse laden with gold comes on,
The guard will stoope, and gates flye open wide.

In Gellam. 11.

Gella, if thou dost loue thy selfe, take heed,
Lest thou my rimes[32] unto thy louer read;
For straight thou grin'st, and then thy louer seeth
Thy canker-eaten gums and rotten teeth.

In Quintum. 12.

Quintus his wit[33] infused into his braine,
Mislikes[34] the place, and fled into his feet;
And there it wandered[35] up and downe the street,
Dabled in the dirt, and soakèd in the raine:
Doubtlesse his wit intends not to aspire,
Which leaues his head, to travell in the mire.

In Severum. 13.

The Puritan Severus oft doth read
This text, that doth pronounce vain speech a sin,—
"That thing defiles a man, that doth proceed,
From out the mouth, not that which enters in."
Hence it is,[36] that we seldome heare him sweare:
And thereof as a Pharisie he vaunts;
But he devours more capons in one[37] yeare,
Then would suffice an hundred[38] Protestants.
And sooth, those sectaries are gluttons all,
As well the thred-bare cobler, as the knight;
For those poore slaues which haue not wherewithall,
Feed on the rich, till they devour them quite;
And so, as[39] Pharoe's kine, they eate up clean,
Those that be fat, yet still themselues be lean.

In Leucam. 14.

Leuca, in Presence once, a fart did let;
Some laught a little; she refus'd[40] the place;
And mad with shame, did then[41] her gloue forget,
Which she return'd to fetch with bashfull grace;
And when she would haue said, "I've lost my gloue,"[42]
My fart (qd. she:) which did more laughter moue.

In Macrum. 15.

Thou canst not speake yet, Macer, for to speake,
Is to distinguish sounds significant:
Thou with harsh noise the ayre dost rudely breake;
But what thou utterest common sence doth want,—
Halfe English words, with fustian termes among
Much like the burthen of a Northerne song.

In Fastum.[43] 16.

"That youth," saith Faustus, "hath a lyon seene,
Who from a dicing-house comes money-lesse":
But when he lost his haire, where had he beene?
I doubt me he had seene a Lyonesse?

In Cosmum. 17.

Cosmus hath more discoursing in his head
Then Ioue, when Pallas issued from his braine;
And still he strives to be deliveréd
Of all his thoughts at once, but all in vaine;
For, as we see at all the play-house doores,
When ended is the play, the dance, and song,
A thousand townesmen, gentlemen, and whores,
Porters and serving-men, together throng,—
So thoughts of drinking, thriuing, wenching, warre,
And borrowing money, raging,[44] in his mind;
To issue all at once so forward are,
As none at all can perfect passage find.

In Flaccum. 18.

The false knave Flaccus once a bribe I gaue:
The more foole I to bribe so false a knaue:
But he gaue back my bribe; the more foole he,
That for my folly did not cousen me.

In Cineam. 19.

Thou doggèd Cineas, hated like a dogge,
For still thou grumblest like a masty[45] dogge,
Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dogge;
Thou saith[46] thou art as weary as a dogge,
As angry, sicke, and hungry as a dogge,
As dull and melancholly as a dogge,
As lazy, sleepy,[47] idle as a dogge:
But why dost thou compare thee to a dogge
In that, for which all men despise a dogge?
I will compare thee better to a dogge:
Thou art as faire and comely as a dogge,
Thou art as true and honest as a dogge,
Thou art as kind and liberall as a dogge,
Thou art as wise and valiant as a dogge.
But Cineas, I have [often][48] heard thee tell,
Thou art as like thy father as may be;
'Tis like enough; and faith I like it well;
But I am glad thou art not like to me.

In Gerontem. 20.

Geron's[49] mouldy memory corrects
Old Holinshed, our famous Chronicler,
With morall rules; and policy collects
Out of all actions done these fourscore yeare;[50]
Accounts the times of euery old[51] event,
Not from Christ's birth, nor from the Prince's raigne,
But from some other famous accident,
Which in mens generall notice doth remaine,—
The siege of Bulloigne and the Plaguy Sweat,
The going to St. Quintin's and New-haven,
The rising in the North, the Frost so great
That cart-wheeles' prints on Thamis face were graven,[52]
The fall of money, and burning of Paul's steeple;
The blazing starre, and Spaniard's ouerthrow:
By these events, notorious to the people,
He measures times, and things forepast doth show:
But most of all, he chiefly reckons by
A priuate chance,—the death of his curst[53] wife;
This is to him the dearest memory,
And the happiest accident of all his life.

In Marcum. 21.

When Marcus comes from Minnes,[54] hee still doth sweare,
By "come on[55] seauen," that all is lost and gone;
But that's not true; for he hath lost his haire,—
Onely for that he came too much at one.

In Ciprum.[56] 22.

The fine youth Ciprius is more tierse and neate,
Then the new garden of the Old Temple is;
And still the newest fashion he doth get,
And with the time doth change from that to this;
He weares a hat of the flat-crowne block,
The treble ruffes, long cloake, and doublet French;
He takes tobacco, and doth weare a lock,
And wastes more time in dressing then a wench:
Yet this new fangled youth, made for these times,
Doth aboue all praise old George Gascoine's[57] rimes?

In Cineam. 23.

When Cineas comes amongst his friends in morning,
He slyly spies[58] who first his cap doth moue;
Him he salutes, the rest so grimly scorning,
As if for euer they had lost his loue.
I seeing[59] how it doth the humour fit
Of this fond[60] gull to be saluted first,
Catch at my cap, but moue it not a whit:
Which to[61] perceiuing, he seemes for spite to burst:
But Cineas, why expect you more of me,
Then I of you? I am as good a man,
And better too by many a quality,
For vault, and dance, and fence and rime I can:
You keep a whore at your own charge, men tell me,
Indeed friend (Cineas) therein you excell me.

In Gallum. 24.

Gallas hath beene this Summer-time in Friesland,
And now return'd, he speaks such warlike words,
As, if I could their English understand,
I feare me they would cut my throat like swords:
He talkes of counter-scarfes[62] and casomates,
Of parapets, of curteneys, and palizadoes;
Of flankers, ravelings, gabions he prates,
And of false-brayes,[63] and sallies[64] and scaladoes.
But, to requite such gulling tearmes as these,
With words of my profession I reply;
I tell of fourching,[65] vouchers, and counterpleas,
Of withermans,[66] essoynes, and Champarty.
So, neither of us understanding[67] one another,
We part as wise as when we came together.

In Decium. 25.

Audacious painters have Nine Worthies made;
But poet Decius,[68] more audacious farre,
Making his mistris march with men of warre,
With title of "Tenth Worthy"[69] doth her lade.[70]
Me thinks that gull did use his tearmes as fit,
Which tearm'd his loue "a gyant for her wit."

In Gellam. 26.

If Gella's beauty be examinèd,
She hath a dull, dead eye, a saddle nose,
And[71] ill-shap't face, with morphew ouer-spread,
And rotten teeth, which she in laughing shows;
Briefly, she is the filthiest wench in towne,
Of all that doe the art of whoring use:
But when she hath put on her sattin gowne,
Her cut[72] lawne apron, and her velvet shooes,
Her greene silke stockins and her petticoat
Of taffaty, with golden fringe a-round,
And is withall perfumed with civet hot,[73]
Which doth her valiant stinking breath confound,—
Yet she with these additions is no more
Than a sweet, filthy, fine, ill-favoured[74] whore.

In Syllam. 27.

Sylla is often challenged to the field,
To answer as a gentleman, his foes:
But then he doth this[75] answer onely yeeld,—
That he hath livings and faire lands to lose.
Silla, if none but beggars valiant were,
The King of Spaine would put us all in feare.

In Sillam. 28.

Who dares affirme that Silla dares not fight?
When I dare sweare he dares adventure more
Than the most braue and all-daring[76] wight,[77]
That euer armes with resolution bore;
He that dares[78] touch the most unwholsome whore
That euer was retir'd into the Spittle[79]
And dares court wenches standing at a doore,
(The portion his wit being passing little);
He that dares give his dearest friends offences,
Which other valiant fooles doe feare to doe:
And when a feaver doth confound his sences,
Dare eate raw beefe, and drink strong wine thereto:
He that dares take tobacco on the stage,[80]
Dares man a whore at noone-day through the street:
Dares dance in Paul's and in this formall age,
Dares say and doe whateuer is unmeet;
Whom feare of shame could neuer yet affright,—
Who dares affirme that Sylla dares not fight?

In Haywodum.[81] 29.

Haywood, that did[82] in Epigrams excell,
Is now put downe since my light Muse arose;
As buckets are put downe into a well,
Or as a schoole-boy putteth downe his hose.[83]

In Dacum.[84] 30.

Amongst the poets Dacus numbred is,
Yet could he neuer make an English rime;
But some prose speeches I haue heard of his,
Which haue been spoken many an hundreth time:
The man that keeps the Elephant hath one,
Wherein he tells the wonders of the beast:
Another Bankes pronouncèd long agon,[85]
When he his curtailes[86] qualities exprest:
He first taught him that that keeps the monuments
At Westminster, his formall tale to say;
And also him which Puppets represents,
And also him which with the Ape doth play:
Though all his Poetry be like to this,
Amongst the poets Dacus numbred is.

In Priscum. 31.

When Priscus, rais'd from low to high estate,
Rode through the street in pompous jollity;
Caius, his poore familiar friend of late,
Bespake him thus: "Sir, now you know not me.'
"'Tis likely friend," (quoth Priscus) "to be so,
For at this time myselfe I do not know."

In Brunum. 32.

Brunus, which deems himselfe a faire sweet youth
Is thirty nine yeares of age at least;
Yet was he neuer, to confesse the truth,
But a dry starveling when he was at best:
This gull was sicke to shew his night-cap fine,
And his wrought pillow over-spread with lawne;
But hath been well since his griefe's cause hath line[87]
At Trollup's by Saint Clement's Church, in pawne.

In Francum. 33.

When Francus comes to sollace with his whore,
He sends for rods, and strips himselfe stark naked;
For his lust sleeps and will not rise before,
By whipping of the wench it be awakèd.
I enuie him not, but wish I had the powre
To make myselfe[88] his wench but one halfe houre.

In Castorem. 34.

Of speaking well why doe we learne the skill,
Hoping thereby honour and wealth to gaine;
Sith rayling Castor doth, by speaking ill,
Opinion of much wit and gold obtaine?

In Septimium. 35.

Septimus liues, and is like garlick seene,
For though his head be white, his blade is greene:
This old mad coult deserves a Martyr's praise,
For he was burnèd in Queene Marie's daies.

Of Tobacco. 36.

Homer, of Moly and Nepenthe sings:
Moly, the gods' most soueraigne hearb diuine,
Nepenthe, Heauen's[89] drinke, most[90] gladnesse brings,
Heart's griefe expells, and doth the wits refine.
But this our age another world hath found,
From whence an hearb of heauenly power is brought;
Moly is not so soueraigne for a wound,
Nor hath Nepenthe so great wonders wrought:[91]
It is Tobacco, whose sweet substantiall[92] fume
The hellish torment of the teeth doth ease,
By drawing downe, and drying up the rheume,
The mother and the nurse of each disease:
It is Tobacco, which doth cold expell,
And cleares the obstructions of the arteries,
And surfeits, threatning death, dijesteth well,
Decocting all the stomack's crudities:
It is Tobacco, which hath power to clarifie
The cloudy mists before dimme eyes appearing:
It is Tobacco, which hath power to rarifie
The thick grosse humour which doth stop the hearing;
The wasting hectick, and the quartaine feuer,
Which doth of Physick make a mockery;
The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for euer,
Whether the cause in teeth or stomack be;
And though ill breaths were by it but confounded,
Yet that vile medicine it doth farre excell,
Which by Sir Thomas Moore[93] hath beene propounded:
For this is thought a gentleman-like smell.
O, that I were one of those Mountebankes,
Which praise their oyles and powders which they sell!
My customers would giue me coyne with thanks;
I for this ware, for sooth[94] a tale would tell:
Yet would I use none of these tearmes before;
I would but say, that it the Pox will cure:
This were enough, without discoursing more,
All our braue gallants in the towne t'allure,

In Crassum. 37.

Crassus his lyes,[95] are not pernicious lyes,
But pleasant fictions, hurtfull unto none
But to himselfe; for no man counts him wise
To tell for truth that which for false is knowne.
He sweares that Gaunt is three score miles about,
And that the bridge at Paris on the Seyn
Is of such thicknesse, length and breadth throughout,
That sixe score Arches can it scarce sustaine;
He sweares he saw so great a dead man's scull
At Canterbury, dig'd out of the ground,
That would containe of wheat three bushels full;
And that in Kent are twenty yeomen found,
Of which the poorest euery yeare dispends,
Fiue thousand pounds: these and fiue thousand mo,
So oft he hath recited to his friends,
That now himselfe perswades himselfe 'tis so.
But why doth Crassus tell his lyes so rife,
Of Bridges, Townes, and things that haue no life?
He is a Lawyer, and doth well espie,
That for such lyes an Action will not lye.

In Philonem. 38.

Philo the Lawyer[96] and the Fortune-teller;
The Schoole-master, the Midwife, and the Bawd,
The conjurer, the buyer, and the seller
Of painting, which with breathing will be thaw'd,
Doth practise Physicke; and his credit growes,
As doth the Ballad-singer's auditory,[97]
Which hath at Temple-barre his standing chose,
And to the vulgar sings an Ale-house story:
First stands a Porter; then an Oyster-wife
Doth stint her cry, and stay her steps to heare him;
Then comes a Cut-purse ready with a[98] knife,
And then a Countrey clyent passeth neare him;
There stands the Constable, there stands the whore,
And, listening[99] to the song, heed[100] not each other;
There by the Serjeant stands the debitor,[101]
And doth no more mistrust him then his brother:
Thus Orpheus to such hearers giueth musick,
And Philo to such patients giueth physick.

In Fuscum. 39.

Fuscus is free, and hath the world at will;
Yet in the course of life that he doth lead,
He's like a horse which, turning round a mill,
Doth always in the self-same circle tread:
First, he doth rise at ten; and at eleuen
He goes to Gyls,[102] where he doth eate till one;
Then sees a Play till sixe, and sups at seven;
And after supper, straight to bed is gone;
And there till ten next day he doth remaine,
And then he dines, and[103] sees a Comedy;
And then he suppes, and goes to bed againe:
Thus round he runs without variety,
Saue that sometimes he comes not to the Play,
But falls into a whore-house by the way.

In Afram. 40.

The smell-feast Afer, trauailes to the Burse[104]
Twice euery day, the newest[105] newes to heare;
Which, when he hath no money in his purse,
To rich mens tables he doth often beare:
He tells how Gronigen[106] is taken in,[107]
By the braue conduct of illustrious Vere,[108]
And how the Spanish forces Brest would win,
But that they doe victorious Norris feare.
No sooner is a ship at sea surpris'd,
But straight he learnes the news, and doth disclose it:
No sooner hath the Turk a plot deuis'd
To conquer[109] Christendom, but straight he knows it:[110]
Faire written in a scrowle he hath the names
Of all the widdows which the Plague hath made;
And persons, times, and places still he frames,
To euery tale, the better to perswade:
We call him Fame, for that the wide-mouth slaue
Will eate as fast as he will utter lies;
For Fame is said an hundred mouths to haue,
And he eates more than would fiue score suffice.

In Paulum. 41.

By lawfull mart, and by unlawfull stealth,
Paulus in spite of enuy, fortunate,
Deriues out of the Ocean so much wealth,
As he may well maintaine a lord's estate;
But on the land a little gulfe there is,
Wherein he drowneth all the wealth of his.

In Licum. 42.

Lycus, which lately[111] is to Venice gone,
Shall if he doe returne, gaine three for one:[112]
But ten to one, his knowledge and his wit
Will not be bettered or increas'd a whit.

In Publium. 43.

Publius [a] student at the Common-law,
Oft leaves his Bookes, and for his recreation,
To Paris-garden[113] doth himselfe withdrawe;
Where he is rauisht with such delectation,
As downe among[114] the beares and dogges he goes;
Where, whilst he skipping cries "to head to head,"
His satten doublet and his veluet hose[115]
Are all with spittle from aboue be-spread:
When he is like his father's countrey Hall,[116]
Stinking with dogges, and muted[117] all with haukes;
And rightly too on him this filth doth fall,
Which for such filthy sports his bookes forsakes;[118]
Leaving old Ployden,[119] Dyer, Brooke alone,
To see old Harry Hunkes, and Sacarson.[120]

In Sillam. 44.

When I this proposition had defended,
"A coward cannot be an honest man,"
Thou Silla, seem'st forthwith to be offended,
And holds the contrary, and sweares he can;
But when I tell thee that he will forsake
His dearest friend, in perill of his life;
Thou then art chang'd, and sayst thou didst mistake,
And so we end our argument and strife:
Yet I think oft, and thinke I thinke aright,
Thy argument argues thou wilt not fight.

In Dacum.[121] 45.

Dacus with some good colour and pretence,
Tearmes his love's beauty "silent eloquence:"
For she doth lay more colour on her face
Than ever Tully us'd his speech to grace.

In Marcum. 46.

Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery,
Raile and blaspheame, and call the heauens unkind?
The heauens doe owe no kindnesse unto thee,
Thou hast the heauens so little in thy minde;
For in thy life thou neuer usest prayer
But at primero, to encounter faire.

Meditations of a Gull. 47.

See, yonder melancholy gentleman,
Which, hood-wink'd with his hat, alone doth sit!
Thinke what he thinks, and tell me if you can,
What great affaires troubles his little wit.
He thinks not of the warre 'twixt France and Spaine,
Whether it be for Europe's good or ill,
Nor whether the Empire can itselfe maintaine
Against the Turkish power encroaching still;
Nor what great towne in all the Netherlands,
The States determine to beseige this Spring;
Nor how the Scottish policy now stands,
Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.
But he doth seriously bethinke him whether
Of the gull'd people he be more esteem'd
For his long cloake or for his great black feather,
By which each gull is now a gallant deem'd;
Or of a journey he deliberates,
To Paris-garden,[122] Cock-pit or the Play;
Or how to steale a dog he meditates,
Or what he shall unto his mistriss say:
Yet with these thoughts he thinks himself most fit
To be of counsell with a king for wit.

Ad Musam. 48.

Peace,[123] idle Muse, haue done! for it is time,
Since lousie Ponticus enuies my fame,
And sweares the better sort are much to blame
To make me so well knowne for my[124] ill rime:
Yet Bankes his horse,[125] is better knowne then he.
So are the Cammels and the westerne hogge,[126]
And so is Lepidus his printed Dog:[127]
Why doth not Ponticus their fames enuie?
Besides, this Muse of mine, and the blacke feather
Grew both together fresh[128] in estimation:
And both growne stale, were cast away together:
What fame is this that scarce lasts[129] out a fashion?
Onely this last in credit doth remaine,
That from henceforth, each bastard cast-forth rime,
Which doth but savour of a libell vaine,
Shall call me father, and be thought my crime;
So dull, and with so little sence endu'd,
Is my grose-headed Judge, the multitude.

Finis. I. D.

[Appendix to Epigrams:]

(FROM THE HARLEIAN MSS. 1836.)

As explained in the Note, page 6 ante, I have gleaned a few additions to these Epigrams. At close of those of Hutton,—in the MS. marked 60 and in Hutton's own volume 56,—on folio 15d, is the word 'finis.' Immediately under this, the MS. is continued in the same handwriting on to folio 19, whereon 'finis' is again placed: and on folios 19 and 20 Lines 'of Tobacco' with 'finis' once more. These Lines on 'Tobacco' are curious: and somewhat resemble those on 'Moly' given in the Hitherto Unpublished Poems of Davies, onward. G.

1. In Superbiam. Epi. 4.

I tooke the wall, one thrust me rudely by,
And tould me the King's way did open lye.
I thankt him y^t he did me so much grace,
to take the worse, leave me the better place;
For if by th' owners wee esteeme of things,
the wall's the subjects, but the way's the King's.

2. Epi. 5.

NIX:. I that the Winter's daughter am whilst thus my letters stand,
Am whiter then the plumbe[130] of swan or any ladye's hand;
IX:. Take but away my letter first, and then I doe encline
That stood before for milke white snowe to be the figure nine.
And if that further you desire by change to doe som trickes,
As blacke as any bird I am.

CORNIX:. by adding COR to NIX.

3. Epi. 6.

Health is a jewell true, which when we buy
Physitians value it accordingly.

4. In Amorosum. Epi. 7.

A wife you wisht me (sir) rich, faire and young
with French, Italian, and the Spanish tongue:
I must confesse yo^r kindnesse verie much
but yet in truth, Sir, I deserve none such,
for when I wed—as yet I meane to tarry—
A woman of one language i'le but marry,
and with that little portion of her store,
expect such plenty, I would wish no more.

5. Epi. 9.

Westminster is a mill that grinds all causes,
but grinde his cause for mee there, he y^t list:
For by demures and errours, stayes and clauses,
the tole is oft made greater then the grist.

6. Epi. 10.

He that doth aske St. James they [?] say, shall speed:
O y^t Kinge James would answere to my need.

[V. GULLINGE SONNETS.]

NOTE.

These 'Gullinge Sonnets' were first printed in my reproduction of the Dr. Farmer MS. for the Chetham Society (2 vols. 4to., 1873) in Part I. pp. 76-81. There seems no question that these Sonnets belong to Sir John Davies. Besides the "J. D." and "Mr. Dauyes" of the MS., his most marked turns of thought and epithet are readily discernible in them. See critical remarks on them and their probable motif in Memorial-Introduction.

The Sir Anthony Cooke to whom these Sonnets are dedicated descended from the Sir Anthony who was Preceptor to King Edward VI., and for Letters from whom whoso cares may consult the "Reformation" correspondence of the Parker Society. His daughter Mildred was second wife of Lord Burleigh, and his daughter Anne was mother of the Bacon. His son and heir, Richard Cooke, died in 1579, and was succeeded by his son Anthony (this Sir Anthony), who was knighted in 1596 by the Earl of Essex at the sacking of Cadiz. He was buried at Romford, Essex, on the 28th December, 1604. G.

[Dedicatory Sonnet.]

TO HIS GOOD FREINDE S^R ANTH. COOKE.

Here my Camelion Muse her selfe doth chaunge
to diuers shapes of gross absurdities,
and like an Antick[131] mocks w^th fashion straunge
the fond[132] admirers of lewde gulleries.
Your iudgement sees w^th pitty, and w^th scorne
The bastard Sonnetts of these Rymers bace,
W^ch in this whiskinge age are daily borne
To their own shames, and Poetrie's disgrace.
Yet some praise those and some perhappes will praise
euen these of myne: and therefore thes I send
to you that pass in Courte yo^r glorious dayes;
Y^t if some rich rash gull these Rimes commend
Thus you may sett this formall witt to schoole,
Vse yo^r owne grace, and begg him for a foole.

J. D.

Gullinge Sonnets.

1— The Louer Vnder burthen of his M^ris love
W^ch lyke to Ætna did his harte oppree:
did giue uch piteous grones y^t he did moue
the heau'nes at length to pitty his ditree
but for the fates in theire highe Courte aboue
forbad to make the greuous burthen lee.
the gracous powers did all conpire to proue
Yt miracle this micheife mighte redree;
therefore regardinge y^t y^e loade was uch
as noe man mighte w^th one man's mighte utayne
and y^t mylde patience[133] imported much
to him that hold indure an endles payne:
By there decree he oone transformèd was
into a patiente burden-bearinge Ae.
2— As when y^e brighte Cerulian firmament
hathe not his glory w^th black cloudes defas'te,
Soe were my thoughts voyde of all dicontent;
and w^th noe myte of paions ouercat
they all were pure and cleare, till at the lat
an ydle careles thoughte forthe wandringe wente
and of y^t poyonous beauty tooke a tate
W^ch doe the harts of louers o torment:
then as it chauncethe in a flock of heepe
when ome contagious yll breedes firt in one
daylie it preedes & ecretly doth creepe
till all the illy troupe be ouergone.
So by cloe neighbourhood w^th in my bret
one curuy thoughte infecteth all the ret.

3— What Eagle can behould her unbrighte eye,
her unbrighte eye y^t lights the world w^th loue,
the world of Loue wherein I liue and dye,
I liue and dye and diuers chaunges proue,
I chaunges proue, yet till the ame am I,
the ame am I and neuer will remoue,
neuer remoue vntill my oule dothe flye,
my oule dothe fly, and I urceae to moue,
I ceae to moue w^ch now am mou'd by you,
am mou'd by you y^t moue all mortall hartes,
all mortall hartes whoe eyes yo^r eyes doth veiwe,
Yo^r eyes doth veiwe whence Cupid hoots his darts,
whence Cupid hootes his dartes and woundeth thoe
that honor you and neuer weare[134] his foes.

4— The hardnes of her harte and truth of myne
when the all eeinge eyes of heauen did ee
they treight concluded y^t by powre devine
to other formes our hartes should turnèd be.
then hers as hard as flynte, a Flynte became
and myne as true as teele, to teele was turned,
and then betwene o^r hartes prange forthe the flame
of kindet loue, w^ch vnextinguih'd burned;
And longe the acred lampe of mutuall loue
inceantlie did burne in glory brighte;
Vntill my folly did her fury moue
to recompence my eruice w^th depighte,
and to put out w^th nuffers of her pride
the lampe of loue w^ch els had neuer dyed.

5— Myne Eye, mine eare, my will, my witt, my harte
did ee, did heare, did like, dicerne, did loue:
her face, her peche, her fahion, iudgem^t, arte,
w^ch did charme, pleae, delighte, confounde and moue.
Then fancie, humo^r, loue, conceipte, and thoughte
did oe drawe, force, intye, perwade, deuie,
that he was wonne, mou'd, caryed, compat, wrought
to thinck me kinde, true, comelie, valyant, wie;
that heauen, earth, hell, my folly and her pride
did worke, contriue, labor, conpire and weare
to make me corn'd, vile, cat of, bace, defyed
W^th her my loue, my lighte, my life, my deare:
So that my harte, my witt, will, eare, and eye
doth greiue, lament, sorrowe, dipaire and dye.

6— The acred Mue that firte made loue deuine
hath made him naked and w^thout attyre,
but I will cloth him w^th this penn of myne
that all the world his fahion hall admyre,
his hatt of hope, his bande of beautye fine,
his cloake of crafte, his doblett of deyre,
greife for a girdell, hall aboute him twyne,
his pointes of pride, his Ilet holes of yre,
his hoe of hate, his Cod peece of conceite,
his tockings of terne trife, his hirte of hame,
his garters of vaine glorie gaye and lyte;
his pantofels of paions I will frame,
pumpes[135] of preumption hall adorne his feete
and Socks of fullennes excedinge weete.

7— Into the midle Temple of my harte
the wanton Cupid did himelfe admitt
and gaue for pledge yo^r Eagle-ighted witt
Y^t he wold play noe rude vncivill parte:
Longe tyme he cloak'te his nature w^th his arte
and add and graue and ober he did itt,
but at the lat he gan to reuell it,
to breake good rules, and orders to peruerte:
Then loue and his younge pledge were both conuented
before add[136] Reaon, that old Bencher graue,
who this add entence vnto him preented
by dilligence, y^t lye and ecreate knaue
That loue and witt, for euer hold departe
out of the midle Temple of my harte.

8— My cae is this, I loue Zepheria brighte,
Of her I hold my harte by fealtye:
W^ch I dicharge to her perpetuallye,
Yet he thereof will neuer me accquite.
for now uppoinge I w^th hold her righte
he hathe ditreinde my harte to atisfie
the duty w^ch I neuer did denye,
and far away impounds it w^th depite;
I labor therefore iutlie to repleaue[137]
my harte w^ch she vniutly doth impounde
but quick conceite w^ch nowe is loue's highe Sheife
retornes it as eloynde, not to be founde:
Then w^ch the lawe affords I onely craue
her harte for myne in wit her name to haue.

9— To Loue my lord I doe knightes eruice owe
and therefore nowe he hath my witt in warde,
but while it is in his tuition oe
me thincks he doth intreate it painge hard;
for thoughe he hathe it marryed longe agoe
to Vanytie, a wench of noe regarde,
and nowe to full, and perfect age doth growe,
Yet nowe of freedome it is mot debarde.
But why hould loue after minoritye
when I am pat the one and twentith yeare
perclude my witt of his weete libertye,
and make it till y^e yoake of wardhippe beare.
I feare he hath an other Title gott
and holds my witte now for an Ideott.

M^r Dauyes.

[VI. MINOR POEMS.]

[Minor Poems.]

I. Yet other Twelve Wonders of the World.[138]

I. The Courtier.

Long haue I liu'd in Court, yet learn'd not all this while,
To sel poore sutors, smoke: nor where I hate, to smile:
Superiors to adore, Inferiors to despise,
To flye from such as fall, to follow such as rise;
To cloake a poore desire vnder a rich array,
Not to aspire by vice, though twere the quicker way.

II. The Divine.

My calling is Diuine, and I from God am sent,
I will no chop-Church be, nor pay my patron rent,
Nor yeeld to sacriledge; but like the kind true mother,
Rather will loose all the child, then part it with another;
Much wealth, I will not seeke, nor worldly masters serue,
So to grow rich and fat, while my poore flock doth sterue.

III. The Souldier.

My occupation is, the noble trade of Kings,
The tryall that decides the highest right of things:
Though Mars my master be, I doe not Venus loue,
Nor honour Bacchus oft, nor often sweare by Ioue;
Of speaking of my selfe, I all occasion shunne,
And rather loue to doe, then boast what I haue done.

IV. The Lawyer.

The Law my calling is, my robe, my tongue, my pen,
Wealth and opinion gaine, and make me Iudge of men.
The knowne dishonest cause, I neuer did defend,
Nor spun out sutes in length, but wisht and sought an end:
Nor counsell did bewray, nor of both parties take,
Nor euer tooke I fee for which I neuer spake.

V. The Physition.

I study to vphold the slippery state of man,
Who dies, when we haue done the best and all we can.
From practise and from bookes, I draw my learnèd skill,
Not from the knowne receipt of 'Pothecaries bill.
The earth my faults doth hide,[139] the world my cures doth see,
What youth, and time effects, is oft ascribde to me.

VI. The Merchant.

My trade doth euery thing to euery land supply,
Discouer unknowne coasts, strange Countries to ally;
I neuer did forestall, I neuer did ingrosse,
No custome did withdraw, though I return'd with losse.
I thriue by faire exchange, by selling and by buying,
And not by Jewish vse,[140] reprisall, fraud, or lying.

VII. The Country Gentleman.

Though strange outlādish spirits praise towns, and country scorn,
The country is my home, I dwel where I was born:
There profit and command with pleasure I pertake,
Yet do not Haukes and dogs, my sole companions make.
I rule, but not oppresse, end quarrels, not maintaine;
See towns, but dwel not there, t'abridge my charg or train.

VIII. The Bacheler.

How many things as yet are deere alike to me,
The field, the horse, the dog, loue, armes or liberty.
I haue no wife as yet, whom I may call mine owne,
I haue no children yet, that by my name are knowne.
Yet if I married were, I would not wish to thriue,
If that I could not tame the veriest shrew aliue.

IX. The Married Man.

I only am the man, among all married men,
That do not wish the Priest, to be unlinckt agen.
And thogh my shoo did wring,[141] I wold not make my mone,
Nor think my neighbors chance, more happy then mine own,
Yet court I not my wife, but yeeld obseruance due,
Being neither fond[142] nor crosse, nor iealous, nor vntrue.

X. The Wife.

The first of all our Sex came from the side of man,
I thither am return'd, from whence our Sex began;
I doe not visite oft, nor many, when I doe,
I tell my mind to few, and that in counsell too:
I seeme not sick in health, nor sullen but in sorrow,
I care for somewhat else of, then what to weare to morrow.

XI. The Widdow.

My dying[143] husband knew, how much his death would grieue me,
And therefore left me wealth, to comfort and relieue me.
Though I no more will haue, I must not loue disdaine,
Penelope her selfe did sutors entertaine;
And yet to draw on such, as are of best esteeme,
Nor yonger then I am, nor richer will I seeme.

XII. The Maid.

I marriage would forsweare, but that I heare men tell,
That she that dies a maid, must leade an Ape in Hell;
Therefore if fortune come, I will not mock and play,
Nor driue the bargaine on, till it be driuen away.
Tithes and lands I like, yet rather fancy can,
A man that wanteth gold, then gold that wants a man. (pp. 1-4.)

[II. A CONTENTION]

Betwixt a Wife, a Widdow, and a Maide.[144]

Wife. Widdow, well met, whether goe you to day?
Will you not to this solemne offering go?
You know it is Astreas holy day:
The Saint to whom all hearts deuotion owe.

Widow. Marry, what else? I purpos'd so to doe:
Doe you not marke how all the wiues are fine?
And how they haue sent presents ready too,
To make their offering at Astreas shrine?

See then, the shrine and tapers burning bright,
Come, friend, and let vs first ourselues advance,
We know our place, and if we haue our right,
To all the parish we must leade the dance.

But soft, what means this bold presumptuous maid,
To goe before, without respect of vs?
Your forwardnesse (proude maide) must now be staide:
Where learnd you to neglect your betters thus?

Maid. Elder you are, but not my betters here,
This place to maids a priuiledge must giue:
The Goddesse, being a maid, holds maidens deare,
And grants to them her own prerogatiue.

Besides, on all true virgins, at their birth.
Nature hath set[145] a crowne of excellence,
That all the wiues and widdowes of the earth,
Should giue them place, and doe them reuerence?

Wife. If to be borne a maid be such a grace,
So was I borne and grac't by nature to,
But seeking more perfection to embrace
I did become a wife as others doe.

Widow. And if the maid and wife such honour have,
I haue beene both, and hold a third degree.
Most maides are Wardes, and euery wife a slaue,
I haue my livery sued,[146] and I am free.

Maid. That is the fault, that you haue maidens beene,
And were not constant to continue so:
The fals of Angels did increase their sinne,
In that they did so pure a state forgoe:

But Wife and Widdow, if your wits can make,
Your state and persons of more worth then mine,
Aduantage to this place I will not take;
I will both place and priuilege resigne.

Wife. Why marriage is an honourable state.
Widow. And widdow-hood is a reuerend degree:
Maid. But maidenhead, that will admit no mate,
Like maiestie itselfe must sacred be.

Wife. The wife is mistresse of her family.
Widow. Much more the widdow, for she rules alone:
Maid. But mistresse of mine owne desires am I,
When you rule others wils and not your owne.

Wife. Onely the wife enjoys the vertuous pleasure.
Widow. The widow can abstaine from pleasures known:
Maid. But th' vncorrupted maid preserues[147] such measure,
As being by pleasures wooed she cares for none.

Wife. The wife is like a faire supported vine.
Widow. So was the widdow, but now stands alone:
For being growne strong, she needs not to incline.
Maid. Maids, like the earth, supported are of none.

Wife. The wife is as a Diamond richly set;
Maid. The maide vnset doth yet more rich appeare.
Widow. The widdow a Iewel in the Cabinet,
Which though not worn is stil esteem'd as deare.

Wife. The wife doth loue, and is belou'd againe.
Widow. The widdow is awakt out of that dreame.
Maid. The maids white minde had neuer such a staine,
No passion troubles her cleare vertues streame.

Yet if I would be lou'd, lou'd would I be,
Like her whose vertue in the bay is seene:
Loue to wife fades with satietie,
Where loue neuer enioyed is euer greene.

Widow. Then whats a virgin but a fruitlesse bay?
Maid. And whats a widdow but a rose-lesse bryer?
And what are wiues, but woodbinds which decay
The stately Oakes by which themselues aspire?

And what is marriage but a tedious yoke?
Widow. And whats virginitie but sweete selfe-loue?
Wife. And whats a widdow but an axell broke,
Whose one part failing, neither part can mooue?
Widow. Wiues are as birds in golden cages kept.
Wife. Yet in those cages chearefully they sing:
Widow. Widdowes are birds out of these cages lept,
Whose ioyfull notes makes all the forrest ring.

Maid. But maides are birds amidst the woods secure,
Which neuer hād could touch, nor yet[148] could take;
Nor whistle could deceiue, nor baite allure,
But free vnto themselues doe musicke make.

Wife. The wife is as the turtle with her mate.
Widow. The widdow, as the widdow doue alone;
Whose truth shines most in her forsaken state.
Maid. The maid a Phœnix, and is still but one.

Wife. The wifes a soule vnto her body tyed.
Widow. The widdow a soule departed into blisse.
Maid. The maid, an Angell, which was stellified,
And now t' as faire a house descended is.

Wife. Wiues are faire houses kept and furnisht well.
Widow. Widdowes old castles voide, but full of state:
Maid. But maids are temples where the Gods do dwell,
To whom alone themselues they dedicate.
But marriage is a prison during life,
Where one way out, but many entries be:
Wife. The Nun is kept in cloyster, not the wife,
Wedlocke alone doth make the virgin free.

Maid. The maid is ever fresh, like morne in May:
Wife. The wife with all her beames is beautified,
Like to high noone, the glory of the day:
Widow. The widow, like a milde, sweet, euen-tide.

Wife. An office well supplide is like the wife.
Widow. The widow, like a gainfull office voide:
Maid. But maids are like contentment in this life,
Which al the world haue sought, but none enioid:

Go wife to Dunmow, and demaund your flitch.
Widow. Goe gentle maide, goe leade the Apes in hell.
Wife. Goe widow make some younger brother rich,
And then take thought and die, and all is well.

Alas poore maid, that hast no help nor stay.
Widow. Alas poore wife, that nothing dost possesse;
Maid. Alas poore widdow, charitie doth say,
Pittie the widow and the fatherlesse.

Widow. But happy widdowes haue the world at will.
Wife. But happier wiues, whose ioys are euer double.
Maid. But happiest maids whose hearts are calme and still,
Whom feare, nor hope, nor loue, nor hate doth trouble.

Wife. Euery true wife hath an indented[149] heart,
Wherein the covenants of loue are writ,
Whereof her husband keepes the counterpart,
And reads his comforts and his ioyes in it.

Widow. But euery widdowes heart is like a booke,
Where her ioyes past, imprinted doe remaine,
But when her iudgements eye therein doth looke;
She doth not wish they were to come againe.

Maid. But the maids heart a faire white table is,
Spotlesse and pure, where no impressions be
But the immortal Caracters of blisse,
Which onely God doth write, and Angels see.

Wife. But wiues haue children, what a ioy is this?
Widow. Widows haue children too, but maids haue none.
Maid. No more haue Angels, yet they haue more blisse
Then euer yet to mortall man was knowne.

Wife. The wife is like a faire manurèd[150] field;
Widow. The widow once was such, but now doth rest.
Maid. The maide, like Paradice, vndrest, vntil'd,
Beares crops of natiue vertue in her breast.

Wife. Who would not dye as wife, as Lucrece died?
Widow. Or liue a widdow, as Penelope?
Maid. Or be a maide, and so be stellified,[151]
As all the vertues and the graces be.

Wife. Wiues are warme Climates well inhabited;
But maids are frozen zones where none may dwel.
Maid. But fairest people in the North are bred,
Where Africa breeds Monsters blacke as hell.

Wife. I haue my husbands honour and his place.
Widow. My husbands fortunes all suruiue to me.
Maid. The moone doth borrow light, you borrow grace,
When maids by their owne vertues gracèd be.

White is my colour; and no hew but this
It will receiue, no tincture can it staine.
Wife. My white hath tooke one colour, but it is
My honourable purple dyed in graine.[152]

Widow. But it hath beene my fortune to renue
My colour twice from that it was before.
But now my blacke will take no other hue,
And therefore now I meane to change no more.

Wife. Wiues are faire Apples seru'd in golden dishes.
Widow. Widows good wine, which time makes better much.
Maid. But Maids are grapes desired by many wishes,
But that they grow so high as none can touch.

Wife. I haue a daughter equals you, my girle.
Maid. The daughter doth excell the mother then:
As pearles are better then the mother of pearle
Maids loose their value whē they match with men.
Widow. The man with whō I matcht, his worth was such
As now I scorne a maide should be my peare:[153]
Maid. But I will scorne the man you praise so much,
For maids are matchlesse, and no mate can beare.

Hence is it that the virgine neuer loues,
Because her like she finds not anywhere;
For likenesse euermore affection moues,
Therefore the maide hath neither loue nor peere.